


Fugitive

by sergeant1917



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, Multi, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, bucky is on the run, tagging along as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant1917/pseuds/sergeant1917
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier pulled Steve Rogers out of the Potomac in Washington DC and managed to escape Hydra and their brainwashing.<br/>Now James is on the run from Hydra, Shield, and his past as the Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fugitive

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempt at writing a fanfiction, so please feel free to comment and tell me what you think and leave some constructive criticism.  
> English is not my first language, if you find any mistakes just comment and tell me about them. Thank you.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, the story however does.

“Fuck!“ James groaned. His head was pounding and his vision was blurry. A sharp pain shot through his left side as he was trying to open the door of the car wreck, he was trapped in. It didn’t work. Must have had something to do with the fact that the car was on its roof on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. Still in pain, he tried to turn around. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious like this - head first. Probably several minutes, if not longer.

As soon as the car had hit that tree, the airbag had shot open. That hadn’t stopped his head from crashing against the windshield though, as the car had flipped over.  
“Should’ve worn that fucking seatbelt!“ James mumbled to himself as he proceeded to smash his left fist against the remains of the windshield. This seemed to work better than trying to open the door. Within a few seconds the metal of his fist had finally managed to crash the glass and he could drag himself out of the smoking car wreck.  
He crawled to the nearest tree and leaned against it, a sharp grunt escaping his mouth as he began examining his body for any major injuries. A possibly broken rib on his left side, a flesh wound on his forehead and a few scratches scattered all over his body. He had had worse.

 

A few hours passed until James decided to get up. Pink and orange had already begun to infuse the sky, announcing the next day and SHIELD would show up soon. That he was sure of. They were the reason why he had ended up here in the first place; since the incident in Washington DC they had been trying to find him, and they had come pretty close to even catching him the other day. James had only just been able to outrun them by stealing a car and shaking off his pursuers in the narrow alleys of the town he had been hiding in. But the stolen car was a pile of scrap metal and James’ head start was nearly useless, now that he didn’t have a set of wheels anymore.

Anyway, the pain in his side was endurable by now - all hail advanced metabolism and enhanced regenerative healing - so he patted the dirt off his jeans, pulled his backpack from what was left of the car and began walking in the opposite direction of where he had came from. His head was still fuzzy but he didn’t care. His first priority was not to be seen but there weren’t many cars around anyway and he left quite a bit of space between himself and the street. Every now and then he checked whether he was still following the same direction as the street. Other than that, the day was rather uneventful.

James didn’t stop walking. Why would he? To catch some sleep in the middle of the forest? He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for weeks, so why now? No, he just kept on marching through the woods. His legs seemed to keep going automatically and he didn’t mind the fact that he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Thoughts began overrunning him while he was chewing lazily on a blueberry protein bar he had dug up from the depths of his backpack. Why was he even running? It had become some sort of habit but every once in a while he had to remind himself. He had killed people, probably hundreds! And while he had been under control of Hydra, unable to think or act for himself, he still didn’t trust his current self now. He never wanted to hurt, to murder anyone ever again. He rolled his eyes. “That’s just ridiculous! Look at you, Barnes, you’re a goddamn mess! Walking through the freaking woods, reminding yourself that killing people is nothing a person in their right state of mind would do. Hell, they wouldn’t even consider it. That’s why you’re running!” He took another bite of the protein bar. It tasted dull, like a piece of paper.

 

After several more hours of walking and self-bashing the forest finally thinned out. It was soon replaced by meadows and fields. His mood seemed to lighten a bit at the view of the sun over the open area before him. He could feel the warmth on his skin and his tensed muscles finally relaxed a little.  
In the distance James could see a gathering of houses, a small village maybe. If he was lucky enough he could find a dry and warm place therewhere he could stay for the night. “At least give it a try...” He listened carefully if he could hear any cars approaching. It didn’t seem like it and so he started making his way through the fields towards the village.  
The nearer he got there the bigger the village seemed to appear. It was actually a small town. James was quite happy about it, bigger crowds made it easier to disappear, in case SHIELD would show up... Or Hydra, but he didn’t want to think about that.

It didn’t take him long to get there. No one seemed to notice him, the guy that was wearing a cap to shield his face from curious looks and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. There were only a few glances in his direction, James assumed -hoped- that it was only because of his dirty clothes and not because they recognized him. It was unsettling enough that there was a huge exhibition about Captain America going on in the Smithsonian, with pictures of James’ face on full display for everyone to see. But ever since the incident in Washington DC, that very same face was shown to people on TV, in newspapers, on the Internet. They were calling him a terrorist, dangerous, aggressive, responsible for the destruction the incident had caused, and the downfall of SHIELD.

 

James Buchanan Barnes was a fugitive.


End file.
